


Pradesh, Bickslow

by PlayingWithFire777



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: Abusive Behavior, Adoption, Also because I love Bickslow, Bickslow's Backstory, Child Abuse, Don't know yet if there will be pairings, Family Feels, Kidnapping, Other, Pradeshverse (Fairy Tail), fairy tail - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-07-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:07:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25208953
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlayingWithFire777/pseuds/PlayingWithFire777
Summary: "His earliest memory is when his parents realize he’s not talking to imaginary friends. He is seven years old and he’s speaking to one of the bright balls of light that floats in his backyard when he hears his mother scream. He only has enough time to turn to face her, to see what hurt her, and glimpse her terrified face and shaking finger pointing at him before his father is snatching him up. "This is my take on how Bickslow came to be part of the Pradesh family, and then how he came to be part of Fairy Tail, and how he eventually found his way to his family again. This is based on a timeline of the events in Desna's canon of the Pradeshverse that I've sort of cobbled together. I started this just to make sense of a malleable time line, but it  sort of spiraled into this.
Kudos: 6





	Pradesh, Bickslow

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Fairy Tail, that's Hiro Mashima
> 
> I do not own the Pradesh's, they were created by Desna (you should check out all of those works and Nightmare-senshi's stuff too, that's where I got all my info from)
> 
> There are references to child abuse. Read with caution.

His earliest memory is when his parents realize he’s not talking to imaginary friends. He is seven years old and he’s speaking to one of the bright balls of light that floats in his backyard when he hears his mother scream. He only has enough time to turn to face her, to see what hurt her, and glimpse her terrified face and shaking finger pointing at him before his father is snatching him up. 

As he is held face to face with his father, he keeps trying to look at his mom, opens his mouth to ask what’s wrong when his father tightens the grip in his hair, causing him to wince. 

“Bickslow, hold still!” Is ground out between his father’s teeth. As Bickslow looks into his father’s wine red eyes, he sees a reflection of green light in them, and registers that it seems to be coming from his own eyes at the same time his father hauls him up into the air. 

After that is a rush of activity before a strange man is called to the house, a man whose hands glow as they pass all around Bickslow, whose face is grim and whose eyes are hard. Bickslow’s parents stand to the side, his mother crying and his father holding her tightly. The man with the glowing hands stands up straight once more, light fading from his palms. He nods his head slowly, sadly. 

“It is seith magic. He is one of the soul takers.” The words mean almost nothing to Bickslow; he knows of magic, knows that he’s had relatives who were magic, knows that those relatives are no longer spoken to and are only whispered about by the grown ups. He doesn’t want to be gone, only whispers left to help people remember him. 

His mother sobs loudly and turns into her husband’s chest. The mage- that’s what his parents called magic people, and the glowing hands had to have been magic- gives quiet condolences. His father holds up a hand and silences the man. His words when he speaks are somehow the loudest and the quietest Bickslow has ever heard at the same time. 

“Will you take him? We will not have a demon in this family.”

\----

His next memory involves being kept at a church, more accurately _under_ a church. There are other children like him, some adults as well. There are maybe 15 in total held in cages, some huddled together for warmth and others, like Bickslow, kept on their own. All of them have their wrists cuffed together and their eyes covered with some sort of impossible to remove cloth, but that doesn’t stop the lights shining through, the sense of other people nearby. It is the only reason he knows how many are with him.

It is the only warning any of them have for when the mages come to take them.

It’s the only time another person comes down, as any food they’re given is sent down shoots to their cages and water is sent down pipes in a constant stream in the corner of every cage. There is a small hole in another corner for them to use as a bathroom. The only chance they have to memorize the location of everything is when they are first put in the cage. The blindfold is removed for a minute and the locations are pointed out with gruff words before they are blinded again. 

It is easy to tell when someone is coming to be locked away or when someone is coming to take another. They can sense how many people are coming, and can feel the intent of the person or people. Bickslow knows now that what he sees and senses are souls. The very being of another person. Knows that he is labeled a demon because people with his magic have the potential to see into who a person is at the core of their being, know when they lie, how they are feeling. He is a demon because, if he wanted to, he could _control a person’s soul_ . Some of the others have even spoken of the ability to touch souls, to grasp them, to _take_ them. There is a black market for souls. Bickslow almost throws up at the knowledge that someone could be evil enough to steal a soul and sell it to someone else. That there are people who would buy them. 

But in the end, it is not him and the other Seith mage’s that are selling souls. Because when someone comes to take one of them, that person does not come back. That person, according to what Bickslow and the others have been told, is sold to the black market. They are given to dark mages, other Seith mages, to have their souls be taken, be sold. Because a Seith mage has a pure soul. A white soul. Bickslow has only learned the basics of souls in his time locked in a cage, but he knows that all of them down there have white souls, are untainted Seith mages. That’s why there are more children than adults, because a child is far more pure and more difficult to corrupt than an adult. And these dark mages want only the purest of souls. Bickslow can’t see his own soul- no Seith mage can see their own soul- but he’s been told that his is the brightest the others have seen since they were brought in. The others tell him he won’t be there long, he will be bought up quickly because his soul screams of pure, untainted magic power. 

They are not wrong.

Bickslow has only been there maybe a month, it’s hard to tell time when blindfolded in a cage underground, when his cell door is unlocked. He was one of the few in a cage by himself, likely because of his precious soul according to one of the older Seiths. He knows immediately what it means, can tell that they are not bringing him a cellmate. He scrambles away, but slips in the water from the pipe and slams into the stone floor. He can’t tell how big the people coming for him are, can only see in their souls that they are not good people. They have the strange tint on the edges of their souls that Bickslow has come to learn means they are mages, but he doesn’t know what their magic is.

He feels two rough hands grab him, one on each of his ankles as he kicks out at his takers, he yells at them, all the bad words he knows, swearing with a vengeance. Nothing works beyond the two mages hissing a curse or two when he clips one with his foot. Finally, one gets a hold of his legs while the other grabs his wrists by the chain connecting the cuffs. Bickslow struggles more as he swings between them, tries to get a leg free, but it’s no use. He is carried away, and as one of the mages whispers something that suddenly makes Bickslow’s struggles grow weaker and his eyelids heavier, he notes that not a single one of the other Seiths called out to him. None of them ever spoke when one was taken. And suddenly Bickslow feels more alone than ever, right before everything goes black.

\-----

He is held for a year. It is apparently to let his power build, let his soul grow. He is kept in a completely dark room, one that has symbols drawn all over the walls and floors that occasionally glow faintly. There is no bed, no windows. He is given only the simplest of foods and water, three times a day. It becomes clockwork for him. He wakes up, eats his first meal. He sits in the room, right in the center of the floor, and sees nothing. He never speaks; the first few days he screamed, clawed at the walls until his fingers bled. After a month he gave up. When his second meal comes, he eats it in silence. He closes his eyes and tries to see what he can feel, if he can find any of the souls he used to see so often. Something about the room must make it impossible to see them, because even when people come to bring him food- slid through a small slot near the floor that opens from the other side and locks closed again- he senses and sees nothing. 

If what he learned during his month with the other Seiths is to be believed, he has only the basic form of Figure Eyes Seith magic. He can simply see and sense souls. With training he could be able to help lost souls inhabit vessels- inanimate objects that they’d then use as bodies- and they would follow his orders. He could probably help guide the souls of the dying. That is likely as far as his power would go, because anything more apparently required the use of darker magics to achieve. And Bickslow never wanted to be like the ones who currently held him.

He had no doubt that what was happening to him was bad. When he was brought to his new room, the man that spoke to him- who apparently bought him- said he wanted Bickslow’s soul. He fed Bickslow only to keep his body alive long enough for it to reach a certain point. The man said he could see Bickslow’s soul, which meant he was also a Seith mage, and he wanted to use it in a ritual. The markings in the room helped keep Bickslow’s soul pure and clean, some of them kept the room clean for when he went to the bathroom or finished eating, others blocked his soul sight. The strongest of the markings, the ones that glowed faintly at times, were there to help Bickslow’s soul gain strength. Bickslow didn’t understand what that meant or how it worked, but he could admit that the more time went by the more restless energy he felt. But more than that restless energy was the feeling he was going crazy. It was as if his brain was trying to go too fast, none of his thoughts could keep up with each other. It was partly why he stopped speaking, because words started to come out in tumbles that made his tongue feel twisted. He’d taken to sticking his tongue out and stretching it, just to make sure it wasn’t actually tied. He was always a social child, according to his parents, and he chatted with the souls he saw all the time. This feeling of silence, being unable to speak properly, made him anxious. So he moved his tongue and stuck it out and shifted his jaw, all so he didn’t forget the feeling of talking. He couldn’t speak properly now, but if he ever got out of the dark room his mouth would be ready to say everything he wanted it to.

\-----

On the day he is taken from the room, Bickslow finds himself wanting to go back inside. As soon as he leaves the confines of the walls, he is blinded. There are more people than he had ever expected, thinks there may be almost 50 people in total. It’s hard to distinguish the people from the brightness of the souls, his eyes were so used to the dark with only the slight glow of the runes. Only the differences between the souls let him know where one person ends and another begins. He slams his eyes closed, but some of the light still bleeds through, from the stronger souls. He suddenly yearns to be back in his dark, lonely room. 

As he is dragged past all the people, Bickslow struggles against the grips on his arms, he is being dragged along the floor towards some weird stone structure, one he glimpses between squinted eyelids. There are stairs leading up to a table made of stone, and there is a man in a dark robe standing next to it. It takes more focus than Bickslow thought he had left to be able to see past the tinted soul of the man, a soul that had bright white on the edges but had a pure darkness in the center. That white was the kind Bickslow only saw in the other Seiths back under the church, but the blackness was something new. Though he is young and doesn’t know all that much about his magic yet, Bickslow has the feeling that this robed mage is Dark. Evil. The reason Bickslow was labeled a demon and a soul taker. 

That thought is enough to rouse a new energy in Bickslow, one that has him opening his mouth and shouting, using his voice for the first time in who knows how long. His voice cracks and breaks, almost hurts to use, but he forces himself to shout. He’s been stuck with nothing but his thoughts for so long that he can’t stop them pouring out. All the anger he’d never realized he was holding in. He can feel an energy rising in him. There is a green tint to the world and as one of Bickslow's captors turns to yell at him to stop, he meets the child’s brilliantly glowing eyes and feels his body freeze as the feeling of _something_ invading his body- no, his very _being_ , washes over him.

Bickslow knows what the man is feeling because suddenly the man is a part of him, Bickslow has taken control of this man's soul. Has stolen his sense of self, the essence of his life. 

The shock of it is enough for both Bickslow and the man to stumble. The hold is released and Bickslow is the one left shaking in terror at what he’s done. He’d never been able to do that before, but his time in the room must have done something. Bickslow knows now that he is exactly what his parents called him. A demon, a soul taker.

In his surprised state, Bickslow is brought the rest of the way to the stone table, the man he’d possessed having been replaced by another at some point. Bickslow comes back to himself only when he feels his thin shirt being removed before he is hefted onto the stone table and his hands and feet are tied down. He renews his struggles, but it’s of no use and he can only scream for somebody to help him.

\---

Arman Pradesh was tasked with helping track down a large cult of dark mages, all dealing in the dark arts and black market soul trades.His sound magic allowed him the upper hand on many people, being able to hear them before they saw him. As the Ambassador he was usually only around in the aftermath, to deal with cleaning up, making sure everyone was accounted for, as well as arranging for anyone or anything found to be taken care of however it was needed. 

For instance, when he found four of his five children. While Farron was his own, Kaleb, Christoff, Vander, and Emzadi were all adopted after Arman himself found them. Or in the case of Christoff, when the child was left for Arman to care for by the lunar dragon, named Nurem, who had yet to inform Arman of her reason for doing so. Vander was the sole survivor of a terrible massacre, started by outside clans and finished by the then two year old himself from the release of shades upon Husen island, and Arman was the only one to offer to take care of the child that was sure to have a very difficult future ahead- assuming he even made it to adulthood. Emzadi was a more, unfortunately, common affair: her magic, Solar Dragon slayer magic given to her through a lacrima implant, went out of control and burned down the orphanage she had been in at the time. It wasn’t uncommon for children with strong and destructive magical abilities to accidentally cause damage on great scales. By that point, Arman had had Christoff for around 5 years, and Vander for 4. 

Arman’s first adopted child, Kaleb, was an example of times when Arman’s work truly showed the good he was doing. He’d taken Farron along with him on a job to go over the contents of a slave ship, his son was only 6 at the time but it was an unfortunate necessity. But Farron was the one to find Kaleb, who was 5, cowering in a cage. Farron managed to coax the other boy out, and Arman was informed by the child that his parents were gone. At that time it had only been a few short years since his wife and second child had been taken from him, and he recalled his promise to his wife of having 8 kids. Arman would never let his wife down, he loved her far too much, and so he decided at that moment to take Kaleb with him. Farron was delighted, had already known that Arman was looking into adopting children, and was happy to have a new younger sibling.

Lost in thoughts of his job, Arman was jolted into a halt, his hand coming up to stop those walking behind him, as he heard a sound. A scream. A _child’s_ scream. Arman felt and heard all the pain in that little voice, as it yelled first for help and then in unintelligible sounds. There was a low murmur of chanting under the shouts, but Arman was now completely focused on the fact there was a child in danger, in pain. 

Shooting a look at the mages behind him, Arman barked out orders, “Secure all exits. Surround them, and then those who can, nullify their magics. Do not engage in battle or let yourselves be heard. There is a child in danger in there, and I will not let them die because of our carelessness.” The words were met with strong nods and confident looks, assuring Arman that they would all take this seriously. 

It was only a moment later that they came upon the open cavern that held the mages, and Arman took stock of the situation. Roughly 50 in total, all spread around, encircling a raised platform that had a stone table and two figures on it. One was standing, wearing the same dark robes as all the others in the room, holding his glowing hands above the body on the table. There were two bright green spots in the darkness of his hood, indicating a use of eye magic, likely Figure Eyes, a magical ability found only in Seith mages. It fit with reports Arman had been given on the head of the cult. 

On the table was what appeared to be a young boy, difficult to say the gender for certain from that distance, who had the tanned skin of a Boscan and dark blue hair with black undertones in it, almost as though the hair started black at the roots but shifted to blue as it grew out. The child was horribly thin and there was a sickly pallor to his tan skin that spoke of a long time of malnutrition and abuse. His eyes were opened widely, glowing green themselves. That had Arman pausing shortly, deducing that the boy was likely a Seith mage with Figure Eyes as well; maybe a child of one of the cult members whose soul was offered as a sacrifice to whatever ritual they were performing? It wasn’t a super important detail, but something to be aware of when handling the child. Untrained Figure Eyes often led to injury on the affected party and punishment for the mage wielding them. 

Arman didn’t hesitate to take the moment of surprise before anyone could sense them, and raised his hand in signal to the mages with him that could stifle magic or subdue a person. Within moments the cultists were seized from three different directions, with any matter of magic coming at them making it impossible to predict what to do. Arman himself moved through the throngs of panicked people towards the platform, where the leader seemed intent on continuing no matter what happened around them. Arman refused to let something happen to an innocent child in front of him, and did not waste time in shouting out a command to one of the mages that followed him.

“Seize the leader now! Do not let him harm the child!” Arman side stepped while continuing to run as the mage behind him, a younger woman named Alsaine with a control over magic chains that could drain power from others, shot herself forward with her arms outstretched. Her chains glowed a vibrant indigo as they swiftly wrapped around the cult leader just before their hands could land fully on the child’s chest. As Alsaine handled that, Arman moved to the child. He climbed the steps two at a time, ignoring the dark mage struggling against their bindings as Alsaine wrapped the chains further around them.

Upon reaching the child, whose eyes were squeezed shut tight, a trickle of blood leaking from one attesting to the strain on his magic, Arman made sure not to make any sudden movements. He listened to the boy’s soul, tried to get his bearings before doing anything, checking how panicked the boy was by listening closely. He gently placed a hand on the boy’s own, not gripping or holding, just resting it there so the boy could yank it away if he wanted (and was able) to. Wine colored eyes with only a faint green glow shot open to stare directly at Arman, who looked back steadily.

The child struggled then, scrambling to sit up and try to get off the table, but only crumpled to the ground on the opposite side of Arman. As he swiftly moved towards the child, he told the others to remove the cult from the cavern. He crouched near the still fallen child, as he heard his fellows move to follow his order. 

On closer inspection, Arman could see how unwell the child was. Really it was a surprise the boy had so much fight left in him, considering how easily Arman could count his ribs. His cheeks were sunken in and his eyes dark, he was wearing only thin trousers with no shoes or shirt, showing the clan marking of a wolf on his lower side that told Arman he was of the same region as Christoff. Arman cast his thoughts to try and remember what people there were like in regards to Seith mages, but was more focused on calming the trembling young boy.

“I won’t try to tell you everything’s alright now, but I want you to know you are safe.” The older mage didn’t raise his voice, kept it a bit softer but without trying to sound like he was speaking down to the child. It was hard to tell when pride would be something to get in the way of people being helped, and often many people were left with only their own sense of pride to rely on. The boy jerked slightly, eyes squinting open once more. Arman noted that the glow was gone from them, thankful that he wouldn’t have to navigate around that issue as well. “My name is Arman Pradesh. I work for the Boscan Embassy as an Ambassador.” Not being replied to, Arman continued to speak in the hopes of gaining even a bit of trust. He pulled out his official documentation and ID, setting them on the floor for the boy to look at. The child glanced down at them, but made no move otherwise _He may not be able to read I suppose._ Arman thought, _If he is the child of a cultist they may not have seen a point in teaching him._ “We were sent to apprehend a group of dark cultists- dark mages. Am I right in guessing they were using you for something?” 

\----

Bickslow snorted softly at that, because really? That should have an obvious answer. Instead, of speaking- his throat felt raw from his screaming earlier- he chose to inspect the man’s soul. By this point, even if he spent a lot of his time separated from people, he had still learned to tell a lot about a person by their soul, even before learning from the other Seith’s in the cages. Looking at the soul of this man, Arman Pradesh or so he claimed, Bickslow could see the goodness at his core. The tint of magic was there, a magic that Bickslow remained very wary of in case it was used against him, but he couldn’t help the instinctual feeling of relief. He’d grown up seeing all sorts of souls- both living and dead- and he could tell this one wasn’t one likely to hurt him.

Of course he’d thought the same of his parents, and look where that got him.

Either way, Bickslow felt at least safe enough to glance back down at the man- Arman’s- papers. He could see the title of Ambassador on the small card near a picture of Arman Pradesh with his name and other information. Bickslow didn’t know anything about Embassies or Ambassadors, but the card seemed official looking. As much as he’d been through hell the past year or so, Bickslow was still a child of only 8 years old. Assuming his birthday had already come and gone, anyways. 

His body shakes more as the adrenaline works through him, as everything that’s happened catches up to him. He can’t help the tears that start, can’t help the sob that escapes before he can clamp down on his lips. He doesn’t know what to do right now, but wants so bad to believe that this man is here to help him, to save him. The soul he sees tells him that Arman Pradesh is a good person, but as far as Bickslow can tell people hate Seith mages. He doesn’t want his possible savior to become another captor. 

Arman shifts, like he’s about to reach out, and Bickslow reacts on instinct. His eyes fly to the man’s and suddenly he is frozen in place with a hand slightly liften. Bickslow sees the slight fluctuation of the soul and notes it as panic. It settles almost immediately, but Bickslow knows he is controlling this man. He sees the slight green glow form around the edges of Arman’s soul in the same way it had with the cult person Bickslow had taken over. He’s never used this aspect of his magic beyond that one moment, but he somehow manages to fight back his own fear and repulsion enough to force himself to speak.

\----

When he feels his body become stiff and has the horrible sensation of being violated at the core of his being, Arman knows he screwed up. But his heart had ached at seeing the child suddenly break down, and it hadn’t escaped his notice the way the boy had stared intently at Arman’s chest, as though staring through him, before a miniscule amount of his panic had faded. Arman guessed the boy had been looking at his soul, judging his character based on it. Arman himself could tell a lot about a person from listening to their soul, and knew from talks with other Seith mages that it was almost instinctual for them to understand what certain souls mean. To tell when one is good, bad, or anything in between.

Arman panics for a moment, his body naturally fighting against the foreign feeling of someone else controlling it, but he fights that urge down and tries his hardest to make his brain understand that the child is likely not in control of this. He can see the surprise and guilt dash across the boy’s features, and knows then that he didn’t mean to do it. 

Unfortunately for Arman, the child doesn’t release the hold. Instead his face becomes almost determined, even as Arman hears the guilt and self-disgust in his soul. This child, who shouldn’t be old enough to even activate his Figure Eyes, let alone control them, is managing to keep his hold on Arman. The older mage knows that people can shake out of the control of Figure Eyes if they are stronger than the one using it, and yet when he attempts to push back against it he finds the hold on grows and the boy’s eyes burn brighter. 

This child is far stronger than he should be. Arman begins to feel a bit of panic again, but continues to keep himself as calm as he can. He wants to believe this boy won’t hurt him. Not on purpose. 

The blue haired child opens his mouth and when he speaks his voice is raw in a way that sounds painful to Arman, “Are you gonna arrest me too? For being a Seith? Like you did that other guy?” 

Though the child is clearly trying to look and sound strong, it’s impossible not to see the trembling getting worse or the way his eyes still look terrified. 

_Ah. He knows about the way people tend to see Seiths then._ Arman understands now why the boy wouldn’t let his hold go. He didn’t trust that he wouldn’t be taken to somewhere that was just as bad as where he’d been not 10 minutes ago. An understandable worry, though one Arman didn’t expect a child so young to have. He felt another pang of sympathy that this child already had been subjected to prejudice for his magic. 

The hold on his body loosens, and Arman is again amazed at the control the boy is displaying in regards to such wild magicks. He feels himself able to move, only slightly, and shakes his head. He does not look away from the child, even though he knows he could now. Could break the hold on his soul and be free to move again. He wants this child to trust him though. Wants to be able to help him. He can’t do that if there’s a worry of being thrown into prison. 

\----

Bickslow finds himself believing in Arman Pradesh. He can see how much stronger the man is, and yet he doesn’t break Bickslow’s hold even when he allows it to loosen. All the man does is shake his head. Bickslow feels the tears threatening to start again, and this time he doesn’t try to hold them back. Instead he closes his eyes and cuts his hold on Arman’s soul while simultaneously throwing himself forward into the man’s chest, bawling as loud as he can despite the pain in his throat. 

He just wants to be safe and he wants to believe that the man wrapping him in his arms is going to give him that.

**Author's Note:**

> So, to help avoid confusion on things I'm gonna write the order the Pradesh kids were adopted (and what age they were) as well as how old they all are in relation to Bickslow at the beginning of the Fairy Tail canon series. 
> 
> Order of Adoption:  
> 1 Kaleb- age 6  
> 2 Christoff- age 2  
> 3 Vander- age 2  
> 4 Emzadi- age 6  
> 5 Bickslow- age 8  
> 6 Xally- age 7
> 
> Start of Fairy Tail series, Bickslow is 22:  
> Arman is 46  
> Farron is 26  
> Zen is 25  
> Kaleb is 25 (couple months younger than Zen)  
> [Bickslow is 22]  
> Christoff is 21  
> Emzadi is 20 (couple months older than Vander)  
> Vander is 20  
> Xally is 18
> 
> This is my interpretation of their ages, from what I can tell there's a lot of malleable timeline stuff happening in most writings of the Pradeshverse, so I figured it'd be fine to do my own take on it. (I'm just a stickler for details and was getting too confused to handle the unspecified timelines, I couldn't help but try to make some kind of order in it)


End file.
